


The Merchant Prince of Pentos. (A game of thrones fanfic)

by Lord_Kragan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Black Comedy, Blackadder References, Drama, Game of Thrones - Freeform, House Targaryen, Humor, Incompetence, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, M/M, War Of The Five Kings, Westeros, warning: spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:04:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8356396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Kragan/pseuds/Lord_Kragan
Summary: "I've got nothing to lose, barring my life-again then, I've got nothing of worth to lose. Instead I can gain everything. Mark my words: I'm going to charge straight int halls of history and leave a mark in it the great Dragon Lords will be jealous of!"





	1. Chapter 1

**This story stems from an idea a friend of mine pitched: What if Illyrio hadn't been a sycophant and instead smacked some common sense in Viserys? This is also heavily inspired by the Fic _Wearing Robert's Crown_ (and seriously, had it been that one Viserys in canon, Westeros would be Targaryen by book 4).**

**Chapter 1. Viserys I.**

 

The beams of sunlight woke Viserys up, as he felt his head being hammered viciously. He hadn't had so much drink to begin with, so he was sur-

 

His train of thought halted inmediately as he remembered a key detail, and noticed something more: the khalassar would depart on the morning and he was sleeping on a fine bed. Normally it would be welcome sight, but this meant that the Dothrakis were gone.

 

"Damn it!" Grunted Viserys as he rose from his bed and sprang to the exit as he made sure he was clothed (he still had, fortunately, the garments from the wedding).

 

He ran across the baroque halls of the manse , bumping with and sending to the ground whomever crossed his path, until he reached the walls of the manse, where Illyrio, clad in a garish crimson tunic, awaited him with four guards wearing.

 

"Your majesty, I hope you've had a nice rest, you looked extremely tired yesterday," said Illyrio in a jovial tone, but it was obvious he was mocking the dragon.

 

"Illyrio, move aside, please, I have a horse-fucker to deal with," Viserys felt how his temper boiled and began to unleash the dragon's fury as he saw the fat magister standing still. "Move aside, I com-"

 

In a lightning-like manneuver, at a speed Viserys hadn't had possible of (or at least, possible for the man in question), Illyrio slapped him with the backside of his left hand. The strength and suddeness was such that the King was sent backwards and fell to the paved floor.

 

"Viserys, you don't command, _anything,_ " gone was the jovial tone of the Magister, now supplanted by a stern voice, like a father that had been angered. "Dothrakis value ONE thing: strength. You're weedy looking, self-entitled and lack the will to adapt voluntarily. If you go with Drogo and his Khalassar, I bet you my whole fortune that by the point they reached Vaes Dothrak you'd be dead meat, specially with that attitude of yours."

 

Viserys turned at the magister, giving him a shocked stare. He touched his lowerlip, particularly the small stream of blood that gently emanated from it. He tried to argue but the Magister cut him short as he continued his tirade.

 

"You're no king Viserys, you're just a beggar who has become brother to a Queen. She has the real power now and she's surely going to grow into it. Meanwhile you're bound to continue wallowing in your self-pity and the delusions of your childhood. Robert Baratheon, for all that little the small-folk care, is the rightful king of Westeros, while you aren't even a pretender. You are _nothing._

 

The young man couldn't say anything at all but the Magister could see how the realization dawned upon him, and all that it entailed. A dauntless prospect, all said and done. Sighing and squaring his shoulders, the Magister offered his hand to the Targaryen.

 

"Look at yourself, an old fat man has kept you locked on the ground. Do you want to stay this way, do you want to be called perpetually the Beggar King," the Magister nodded as he mused for a second. "Everything that you have now is mine: the clothing and weapons, the servants and gifts you gave to your sister. You have nothing, Viserys... but, you CAN have something from this point onwards.

 

"What is it?" Asked the prince after a few seconds of awkwards silence, still refusing to take the hand of Illyrio, which still was extended.

 

"I can teach you the games of power and wealth: be my pupil and I'll back you and help you to become a new man that will grow to be as great as the fabled Targaryens of old," Illyrio made a sad smile. " Tell me, Viserys: do you want to be a Beggar King or a Merchant Prince?"

 

 

**Cbapter 2**

**One thing that bugs me is how shafted Viserys gets in the series. He got what he had sowed, mind you, but still it's... he is shat upon with each new revelation and chance, even when dealing with assholes (and, mind you, Viserys was driven to be an asshole, considering the stuff he had to put up with at age 12) there's limits on how much crap one can shove on someone.**

**Just a quick pointer regarding canon/characterization: I'll go for a bit of a mix for both the show and books. Mainly because I like some characterizations plots in the show, despite all the crap they've pulled *cough*sandsnakes*cough*Ellaria's character assassination*cough*.**

**Illyrio I.**

 

The next day, Illyrio brought Viserys to the Serenissimo Market, the Heart of Pentos. Contrary to one might expect from a market, and in accordance to its name, the plaza was a tranquil place: there people spoke in relaxed voices and it wasn't crowded at all, but rather it was a very spacious area paved in white and black marble with plenty of tables carved from the finest woods in Essos and four fountains in each corner.

 

Sitting and being flanked by servants-slaves in all but name, to be honest- sat the great merchants of the Free Cities.

 

In the harbor and the many bazaars one would see countless petty merchants and shopkeepers argue about prices of certain pieces of goods.

 

Meanwhile these men determined wether or not said petty merchants and shopkeepers got the raw materials and goods to begin with, as well as the prices variety and quality. They controlled virtually all the trade in Pentos.

 

Going straight through the mass of merchant lords and their foreigner contacts, Illyrio walked towards a table of fine cedar close to one fo the fountain, where a gold and ruby-encrusted tankard and three cups rested next to a man.

 

Old and wrinkled, his copper skin contrasted with his pale-blue eyes that seemed to pierce through one's mind. Clad in silvery robe with gold trimming and several gem-encrusted jewels, he made a modest-in comparison to the baroque garments present in the forum- but strong statement about his wealth.

 

"Asteri, good to see you," Illyrio bowed slightly to the Lorathi merchant, "Has the travel been to your taste?"

 

"Oh, quite indeed," the merchant made a tight smile as his voice was tinged in a sardonic tone."Nothing beats travelling through Braavos and meeting those collar-breakers."

 

Illyrio chuckled while the young Targaryen eyed him, unknowing the fact that Asteri D'Arnau had been once a slaver whose fortunes had almost been crushed by the Sealord's armada.

 

"Viserys, allow me to present an old friend of mine, Asteri D'Arnau: a rascal that may or may not sell your hid for a couple pennies or may turn to be a reliable partner."

 

Asteri made a light chuckle as he most likely recalled that incident where he had tried to sell Varys and a young Illyrio into slavery to recover the losses he had suffered when the Bravoosi figuratively (and almost literally) sunk him. Good times indeed.

 

"I think I'm missing something," said Viserys in an almost shocked tone.

 

"Asteri is meant to be your liaison in Lorath," the young claimant gave him a stare that all but shouted: "what the hell are you saying" so Illyrio explained. "Do you think the great merchants go travelling the world and peddling their goods?" Said Illyrio in a humorous tone as he poked his inmense layer of fat. "No, we generally like being as lazy as possible and entrust the distribution to liaisons who in turn will ask the same for us. Of course this only happens once you've reached a critical mass or happen to have the right... pedigree, who would trust an outsider without experience or pedigree?"

 

The Targaryen frowned as he made a deep breath, his fists clenched, one beneath the table and over his lap and the other gripping hard the cup now filled with wine by one of the free-bond servants.

 

The boy somehow felt insulted at being called an outsider to the world trade-then again he hadn't used the most delicate of terms, but this wasn't a world of candy-cotton man-jobs where everything was fluffy and beautiful and no one would try to disagree him as he was the "rightful" heir, he'd better man up soon and grow some skin. Common sense too, along the way, but he'd work up on it with time.

 

"So basically, what we're saying," said Asteri with his soothing voice. "Is that we want you to sell my goods for me here in Pentos. Illyrio told me he sees potential in you-and, that if you fail, will cover costs- and it's been a time since the last time I had a strong presence in the town."

 

"I could take your goods and the profits for myself, you know?" Asked the young fool in a daring tone, a bit estranged to the concept he had been proposed with.

 

The two older merchants laughed to their hearts content at his foolishness.

 

"Nevermind that no merchant in Pentos, nor any of the other free cities would ever deal with you again after that stunt," stated the Magister matter of factly. "We'd send half a horde of assassins after you, and they'd make none of the mistakes Robert's knifes have made across the years, so you better be careful with your words."

 

"In fact, it is customary in most big contracts that the parties pool a certain amount of money to sign a contract with... certain insurance associations,in case any of them break it. We may be "cheese-mongers" like you westerosi like to say, but we aren't fools like you are," added Asteri in a laid back tone as he perched himself on his seat. "So do we start the contract and specify the clausules? Have you brought parchment and ink?"

 

-=0=-

 

For a good chunk of an hour they argued the fine details of the contract. Viserys had two weeks to sell two thousand golden dragons worth (or the equivalent currency) of benefits, so all in all he had to sell all the goods for roughly three thousand dragons.

 

Not impossible considering the facilation Illyrio had made, giving him a good spot in Ludovico's Bazaar, a very good (though not close to the Twelve Golden Miles of Pentos, the bests baazars) trading location. Given velvet and fine salted cod, walrus tusks and wale oil. Illyrio had given him tips about trading and haggling tactics, a basic for a starting merchant, as well as counselling in managing the accounts of his trade. Asteri had given three days prior to starting the trial, and the Magister made full use of them, spending up until the late night and spending a lot of candlelight explaining whatever he thought Viserys may need: from the basics of accounting to some pointers in the cultures customs.

 

He needed to be very thorough for Viserys was stubborn as a mule, but he started giving in by the third day and becoming more applicate in the study. That day was almost thrice as productive as the other two put together, in Illyrio's opinion. If only he left his massive ego behind!

 

-=0=-

 

Five days in and Viserys had barely sold a hundred dragons. He was very aloof when treating the customers and possible traders, turning off most of them. He didn't make bad deals, for Viserys knew the thing's worth and pressed well his bargains, but at the same time his aggressiveness and veiled hostily when trading made him reach agreements an oddity.

 

Right now, He and the young Targaryen sat inside the store where no one passed by the stands. They were alone, quite a feat in Pentoshi markets.

 

"I shouldn't beg them to buy this trinkets," commented resentfully Viserys. "If they want it, they should be grateful I'm lowering myself to give them under my own accord."

 

"Huh, that's a funny concept," Illyrio huffed as he shook his head lightly. "Though I think that the fact that there's a few more scores of merchants that sell similar merchandise makes your chances of that happening a bit lower," with a small huff he muttered how much of a fool he was being as the Magister rubbed his temple.

 

It was then that a man clad in volantese clothes-a red sleeveless jacket of fine silk, a garish blue shirt of delicate fabric Illyrio couldn't pinpoint and pure white bloomer trousers- entered the store. He wasn't really tall nor broadshouldered, neither ugly or handsome. Just perfectly plain, bland and average looking. Aside from the clothes and the ring and modest jewelry which made him stand slightly above the standard merchant-fare.

 

"Greeting good man, my name is Nyessos Maegyr and I couldn't help but ask myself upon seeing you: do you happen to have valyrian blood."

 

-=0=-

 

Nyessos happened to come to a conservative family of Volantis. Old blood they said. Thus the fact to meet another fellow of the Old blood (forgiving a few outlander droplets here and there, but even in the walls of the black city that wasn't too much of a rarity) was an extremely welcome sight.

 

Both of them spoke in fairly amicable terms, and for a chance, Viserys was a charming fellow. After a good twenty minutes of chit-chat mixed with bargaining and banter, the two of them striked a deal: Viserys got that day three hundred dragons and would be introduced to a few more merchantmen that would surely be interested in the Lorathi velvets at a decent price given by a fellow kinman of Valyrian ascendency.

 

Illyrio found it interesting, as Volantene were pretty aloof when dealing with the other folks of the free cities. Perhaps he should Viserys to conduct his trades with the Volantene.

 

Afterwards, Viserys was in a good humor and turned to make as much coin from other customers here and there. Not a bad start, to be honest.

 

-=0=-

 

Two months had gone by and the young man was a rising Star, albeit the term was being a bit generous. The Volantene traders had become fond of him and they relied upon him to get pentoshi and lorathi goods. There weren't many interested in those markets but Viserys had ensured his niche.

 

Furthermore, the boy was learning fast as he soon became a decent orator and moderatedly skilled negotiator, managing a few minor contacts from said volantene to trade their goods in the city and to send Asteri, who was glad to have found a reliable source again. He clearly wasn't magister material (not even close) but he was becoming rich and making a respectable income as he began hiring personnel: a shopkeeper, an accountant and three guards as well as a cook.

 

He was now expanding the business into the textile sector, wanting to dabble more deeply into the markets of lace and silks-one of the most profitable.

 

Asteri was a nice source but lace and more ellaborate textiles were the mother of the trade.

 

Unfortunately for Viserys, the demands and requirements of the Myrish merchants were a no-no (too expensive, even by Illyrio's opinion) and the weavers guild of Pentos was a pain in the ass to deal with. Long story short, he hadn't managed to secure a reliable supply.

 

Which brought them to their current situation. Travelling inside a couch escorted by the guards of Viserys and some of Illyrio's own. They halted until they reached an abandoned storehouse, half a mile outside the city. Viserys, he said, had a plan.

 

"I'm tired with dealing with those pigs from the weavers guild," said Viserys in a rather frustrated tone as he cracked his knuckles. "Too slow, and inefficient. They are mercurial and too scattered in their production. I shouldn't bow and beg to such a rabble of squabbling taylors."

 

Illryio rubbed, for millionth time most likely, his temple. He had quarreled quite often with other Pentoshi merchants and he almost got into serious trouble more than once. Twice he had to speak with fellow magisters to save his hide from danger. Granted, now it happened far less often than at the beginning but...

 

"So, if we don't get mirish lace, nor we get the pentoshi materials, we can only do it ourselves," commented the young Targarien as they entered the wide open space inside the warhouse, where dozens of sewing tools laid in rows: wheels by the dozen and quite a few looms. "I've contacted a few disgruntled apprentices from the guild and they say they are willing to train the workers. But of course: I need workers. And they cost money in a quantity I'm still unable to muster after spending on the material and local-plus the bloody taxes and inspections by the city's officials. Tell me magister, are you interested in making an enterprise with me?"·

 

"Going against the weavers guild? Do you know you don't have hopes of winning that battle?" This was a stupid idea to Illyrio.

 

At this Viserys laughed heartily.

 

"I know and I don't care because I'm not going to fight that battle: what did you teach me? There's always a place for anything. Look at the lower classes of Pentos, do you think they can afford lace and the like? But what if we make it on the chaep, better than average but not spending as much time and detail as needed, making a less refined but better and more abundant product? That's my idea: the textile materials will be good, but not the ungodly expensive stuff the guilds use, or at least Asteri assured me of it when he tried to call his contacts... nevertheless I plan on making all my workforce women, so I can pay them less and cut on costs in exchange of setting a daycare to care of their children and some basic education. A token expenditure in comparison to pay the fullblown salary of an entitled "artisan" and it will be seen as a favor that wil motivate them.

 

"You don't want Asteri to be involved in this."

 

Viserys scoffed, and both knew perfectly what was coming next.

"The man would stab me in the back and take whatever I made if I gave him half a chance, better not go beyond the minimum essentials. I may give him a cut of the benefits if he tries to pull it on us by the mid-stages but rest assured I won't be reliant on him too much in the long term."

 

Illyrio nodded and smiled. Viserys, anticipating what he was going to say, that he was starting to take a liking to being a tradesman, nodded and made a thin smile.

 

"Being called something else aside from "Beggar" and not needing to ask whomever feels charitable wether I can eat or not has its upsides," Viserys shrugged as he tucked a bit his purple tunic with silvery trimming and black sleeves. "Want to see the whole installation?"

 

**Something frustrating is how little we know about Pentos' layout and culture/society. Another more frustrating thing is that I'm pretty sure we haven't seen no character from Lorath.**

**Now a bit of explanation on "amusing" socio-economic data that appeared in this episode.**

**Viserys first successes stem from two (aside from my idea that big Essosi merchants operate in a franchise-like system like some of the great enterprises in our current world) prongs:**

**1)my idea that Volantene, based on their obssession with keeping the old blood, have a very similar mentality to that of Castillian hidalgos (point in case, they were very keen on keeping the "pure bloodlines"-or limpieza de sangre as they called it), considering that the places of power in Volantis can only be accessed by people with Valyrian blood. This same restriction was legal custom in the Habsburg Castille.**

**Thus, assuming this connection I'm going to go on a leg and, remembering Hidalgo mentality, I'd say the Volantene will prefer to work with a man of "pure blood". Viserys' skill is secondary to their eyes as its the heritage what really marks a man's in a Volantene man (at least operating by this basis I've made). Good heritage? Good man, good to deal with.**

**2) This is yet to come into full, but basically Viserys' idea is basically what is called domestic manufactories. Bypass guild production by loophole abuse and reap a bigger (albeit inferior, BUT cheaper) batch of goods to have a stronger grasp in the market. This was a fairly successful practice made by proto-capitalists (specially in Holland and England) during the XVIII and late XVII centuries as they targetted lower stratta with affordable textiles (in contrast to the more expensive but higher quality chinese goods) of lower quality. Suffice to say, the system shall see polishing.**

**His idea of hiring woman in order to pay less, while it may seem sexist to you (and it is), is well justified (and clever) in a context where equality on ANY level (be it gender, class or condition) is shat upon and then impaled with extreme prejudice. Domestic manufactories did pretty much this. Minus the part of the daycare: that's an idea I've lifted from Toyotism's tenet of "take care of the worker".**

**Granted the historical cases weren't exactly this one but then again who cares. As a certain man once said: this is not canon!**

**Chapter 3.**

**I'm rewatching season 6 and my blood boils. Just how much could they have gang-raped Ellaria's character!? She was written as a woman that _didn't_ want to get entangled in this bloody cicle of vengeance, because she understood it would bring her no real confort. How in fucking blazes does that translate to: "I'm going to kill the rest of my husband's family and half the seven kingdoms... to avenge said husband! Even if he'd have been horrified by the prospect. Just don't sweat it, no harm will come to me for _killing a truly beloved ruler and commiting kinslaying."_**

**Bloody hell.**

**Viserys II**

 

Things went rather smoothly afterwards. Visery's strategy had given them access to an untapped market that were the lower classes in the city. He also made himself quite a few more places to snug control alongside, ironically to unaperceiving dullards, a pair of twin Myrish merchants, of the markets incumbent of the lower strata on Tyrosh and its tributaries. Yes, they made textiles, but it wasn't like they were competitors as their target markets couldn't be more different.

 

He made a thin smile, a gesture he noticed he had started to do quite often as of late.

 

Life was good to him, he pondered as he wrote beneath a candlelight's. Just a week ago he had openend a second work-station for his weavers, plus provided better prospects overall. By now he had close to a hundred blades-thrice if he wanted to over-extend a bit- under his service and his own manor had been built. Nothing too big (specially when compared to Drogo's or Illyrio's, then it could almost, _almost_ , called a humble residence) but it certainly beat not having a house of his own.

 

And now he made what he felt was the climax of this introductory chapter in his life: he'd own a ship. No more depending on Asteri or the Drakar brothers to get his goods across the sea.

 

With his two vessels, the _Sea Beggar_ and _Aerys' folly,_ two of the new "galleon" models designed by the shipwrights of Pentos,Viserys could sail freely. Which opened the door for exploration of new regions, goods and potential markets without the need to share the potential benefits or have to pay the unfortunate loses the partners may have incurred. Of course there were a few formalities to finish down, and they took too damn long. Paperwork was his bane, Viserys felt.

 

Why did a dragon need to do this? When he was told he had to fill nine pages worth of paperwork he almost felt he'd go and gather down his swords and storm off the Prince's palace and force him to give him the ships for free and without paperwork. He'd also force him to pledge the might of Pentos-for what little it could account for- into the fight against the Usurper. Somethng he should do as he was the rightful king of the seven kingdoms. Oh, and force him to finish of the stupidity that was-

 

With a too energetic swoop he punched the pot of ink, felling it right over the nine pages of parchment.

 

"DAMN IT!" Roared Viserys in frustration as he slammed his fists against the desk. His leg jerked in half a kick, but Viserys halted it as reigned his temper as he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and counted up to five. _No one, barring the parents, pays attention to a child throwing a tantrum._ Illyrio had told it to him when he, well, threw a tantrum. It didn't further his case at all, and it would only serve as a distraction as he'd have to spend time calming himself down, so it was better to start right at the very beginning and get over it.

 

 _I'll do the bloody red tape again, okay? Are you happy gods?_ He felt his blood boil at the prospect, but he clenched his fists and opened them quickly, as if throwing the bad blood out of himself. It kind of worked.

 

Viserys noticed something on the ruined parchment. He could see the many fine rugs that marred his digits' surface had been rubbed on the parchment. Perfectly mimicking the original.

 

-=0=-

 

The two merchants sat on the terrace of Illyrio's villa, sipping pear brandy from Myr. Illyrio wore a garish and ornate tunic of cream and gold colors, Viserys opted for a slightly more sober light-magenta and silvery tunic. Recently the prince had decided to cut of his hair, leaving it cropped to the sides and short on the top. and the rear.

 

Viserys handled a stack of papers to the Magister, who arched his brow in fake wonder.

 

"What do you think?"

 

Viserys showed the contents to Illyrio. The writting was perfectly readable and there were none of the _many_ mistakes of the original prints. Bloody ink didn't marry well with the letters unless one made a disproportionate effort and care doing the coating, apparently. Also parchment turned out to be a sub-par option, much to Viserys' (and his wallet, as parchment was the cheapest option) chargrin.

 

"Wonderful Viserys, you've made wine presses a doubly blessed item," began Illyrio as he began to muse on the ramifications."Now we can thank the god of festivals for giving us a wonderful item to taste its sweet elixir while said item makes us deal less with the horrible bane of civilization that is administration!"

 

He was, of course, making a friendly jab at Viserys because, inmediately upon hearing about it, an official acquantance of theirs almost jumped in joy because they'd be able to instate more administrative procedures... more red tape thanks to "his" (if the possessive could be applied to someone who just pitched the basic idea and then had stalked around the process of design and testing from time to time) invention. Viserys made a friendly smile and chuckle at the moment, but deep inside his heart, a part of him had died in horrible agony.

 

"I'm thinking of something," the train of though of the Magister was unstopable now, Viserys had seen him make that face quite a few times and they always heralded a great enterprise, as it was needed to keep a man at the top of the Pentoshi hierarchy. "We take the cheapest paper around, that one that has a yellowish tinger and gods know what they throw in it, and then we use it as fodder for the printing press: we then, through a friend of mine, gather as much small secrets and petty details as we can and add information of relevance regarding the other cities. Knowledge is a good in itself. Just imagine what we could get if we distributed it en masse. Something this printing press of yours can achieve if we make it in bulk."

 

Viserys thought of it. The paper he was refering to was obnoxiously cheap, but was barely used due to it not being very good or lasting. But day to day information... you didn't need it to last for long because by the next month it would be irrelevant.

 

"Illyrio sometimes I'd marry you if you were a beautiful woman. Scratch that, as long as you didn't have that massive beard of yours I wouldn't mind

 

"Oh, please, if I was a woman I'd hang myself before dealing with the monthly bleeding," Illyrio scoffed at the prospect. "Unless you fancy being a widower I suggest you find yourself another rich woman to suck off their wealth."

 

Viserys grinned as he brought his hand to his chest, his fingers almost clutching his magenta tunic, in a faux-indignated huff.

 

"I think I'm not that desperate for coin nowadays. Not with a teeming business and a sister married to a grand horse-fucker," his expresion grew somber as his platinum blonde brows furrowed. "Any news?"

 

Illyrio shook

"Jorah has gone silent and your sister doesn't write to us-not that she could with the Khalassar moving around so much."

 

There was almost a hint of relief on Illyrio's voice, Viserys didn't like it. There was something going on, and Viserys had a hunch that "friend" of his may also be involved too. Perhaps an agent for Robert?

 

No it didn't make too much sense. Too convoluted a ploy for such an oaf, the three hired knives he had sent in his stay in Pentos had made extremely amateurish plots. Like always, he'd have to bid his time til the answer came to light. _The dragon must sleep til its wings are strong, remember that. It's awakening must be awe-inspiring not a pitiful moment before the fall._ He remembered it, and hated it with a passion.

 

A dying passion, though. Even fools learn, if at a painfully slow rate.

 

-=0=-

 

Pentos was a city of traders. A man's ranking here was measured by his monopolies, trade contracts and daily coffers. Thus whenever they found something new, the merchants of the city went into a rampage to get the lion's share.

 

Today, though, the discovery didn't stir peoples' hearts. A man named Leorio Da Vecna claimed to have discovered a strange powder that could explode, apparently. Its uses were... blowing into people's faces? Valyrian fire was more useful for the job-albeit more dangerous-thought the merchants. Of course, Viserys decided to give a shot. He may gain only a tiny scrap of utility but it would all his.

 

The man in question drew a handful of the substance. A black powder with a strange smell. He aproached a torch and BLAM! the stone was almost shattered and a few bits of the slab flew off.

 

One cut through Visery's cheek. His hands, trembing, touched the small cut and the modest flow of blood. He watched it mesmerized, a reaction the sage confused with him being on the verge of a fit of the worst kind of rage (the deserved one).

 

Leorio was about to apologize and beg mercy when Visery began laughing like a madman. A joyous laugh that lasted a good chunk of a minute.

 

"Master Leorio, you truly have brought a mighty portent to me. But... I'd like you to find a way to direct and focus the explosion in one direction, and see wether or not it can be used to impulse things at great speed. I'll go and gather the resources and a place, please come the day after tomorrow to my house, dear master."

 

With this Viserys started to leave the humble abode of Leorio but was halted by the man's question:

 

"My lord, what would that "method" be for?" Viserys noted a hint of suspicion in the man. He clearly was seeing him through, huh...

 

Viserys turned and made a thin smile, his eyes almost narrow slits. He brought his index finger to his lips, begging for his silent.

 

"It's a secret, dear Leorio, a riddle if you may," said Viserys in an overdramatic tone. "Fire and blood are the tips."

 

 

**Yup, galleons are a thing here. Very new, they are still in the midst of the first generation. But still the very workable mastodons of trade they were in our world.**

**Pentos, being a trading and wealthy city, meets the socio-economic requirements for the thriving of the printing press. The thing is, of course, something that many (many who think of: hey let's fail to think of since they didn't touch a printing press in their lifes: it's not so easy to make. From a technical stand-point, yes it is, because the technology involved was literally available since the very first century after christ (literally, a wine press and a printing press are at its core the same, only that the latter will be a bit more even in the process of pressing). The issue is that to make the process "viable enough" you need practice as the end result is pages that look a mess, weren't evenly printed (specially when it comes to make the coating for the printing letters, those can be a nightmare, from what I understand), etc.**

**Illyrio's idea on paper stems from the japanese manga, where they make very low-value printings for the majority of their publications (barring the biggest of the big shots). The yellowish paper in question, if my memory upon studying the east-asian publishings, is outrageously cheap. And as for the idea of a newspaper. Well, knowledge is power (but don't let Cersei hear it!).**

**Nevertheless, the printing press and the like are going to trigger the Rennaisance in Pentos sooner or later.**

**At this rate he'll become the hipster he is in the series, but luckily he won't get to wear his crown before it becomes cool like in canon.**


	2. Daenerys I

**Just something I want to say: the events are taking a year prior to the canon series. Mainly because it gives me a margin of time to work out the** fine **details.**

**Right now it's two months prior to the death of Arryn.**

**Daenerys I**

 

 

The sun basked the endless sea of grass the Dothrakis called home. Its rise marked the beginning of Khal Drogo's khalassar. Daenerys, with a smile that made as gleaming as the warm star, rode next to his sun and stars with her silvery stead.

 

Behind him were the bloodriders of his husband while Ser Jorah today was a bit on the rear of the Khalassar tending a friend of his from the Khalassar. He had opted to accompany her instead of keeping watch of his brother,saying she'd need more a connection to Westeros than the man who would spend a while Pentos-the closest city to said continent.

 

Viserys... she wondered if his brother had gotten in trouble. In retrospective, Daenerys had learnt how much of a fool his brother was. The small-folk wouldn't welcome him with open arms, for they were too busy just keeping themselves alive. That, to begin with the long list of things to work around. His brother lacked simply too many skills to make it to kingship.

That, of course, was according to Ser Jorah.

 

"Apparently" the man wasn't too fond of her brother.

 

She shook her head, forgetting about the past. She was free to soar across the vast plains of the Dothraki see now, with her Sun and Stars. Khal Drogo, exhibiting his magnificent and bulging musculature, rippling beneath his sun-tanned skin, rode on a mighty stallion today, yet didn't exert himself too much so to speak leisurily with his wife.

 

"My moon, tell me more about your time in Braavos," he said all of a sudden.

Daenerys smiled, he had seen her furrow her brows, and had clearly seen she ought to be bothered by the past. Whenever he saw her in that state, Drogo tried to bring the best moment of it, prior to meeting him.

 

"It was almost a dream," began Daenerys. "With the old knight Darry caring of us..."

 

For a good chunk of an morrow, she went on and on about his experience in the Free Cities. She had started on Braavos but the subject soon switched to Myr and Lys, then to other cities. Drogo noded politely quite often, listening intently, and from time to time made snippets and remarks regarding his childhood with his deceased brothers-he had killed them in combat- and the many things he had seen in the Dothraki sea.

 

"In the north, next to the sea, the stars are totally different from here," commented idly the Khal. "It's certainly one must see, just for the novelty if anything."

 

At that point Jorah approached, a raven perched on his shoulder and piece of paper on his hands. The first letter Viserys had deigned to send, most likely.

 

"Khalessi, Khal," Jorah, made a short and curt bow. "I've bring news from your brother, and brother-in-law."

 

His voice was even but Daenerys was sure she heard a slight tone of irritation and exasperation.

 

"My husband will give him his army when the time's right."

 

"It's not that, he's asking for horses," Daenerys and Drogo cocked their heads in wonder.

 

"Apparently he's training a force of cavalry for a specific purpose-which he doesn't state in the message- and thinks his best bet are dothraki steeds, he asks if you can spare him a hundred man and a thousand horses, and would be greatly thankful for your assistance."

 

Daenerys winced. That was odd to say the least. Nevertheless they agreed. Drogo had no issue to make such a small effort. He commanded a hundred thousand warriors and his Khalassar had, quite likely, more than a million horses, between the warriors' steeds, the cart steeds and the rest of horses.

 

She wondered what was this "specific purpose". Just for a while, though. Her sun and starts made her forget about the world she had left behind.

 

=========

 

Night fell and the Khalassar encamped. While eating their dinner, consisting of (dull surprise) horse meat, Jhiqui and Irri told her dothraki stories.

 

"Once there was a mother, whom it is known to have loved dearly their sons, for she fought like a whole Khalassar to defend them."

 

The story went on about how many tribulations she underwent, only to die in order to save his children. The eldest of them vowed vengeance on the Yi Ti, the killers. He gathered many Khalassars and launched a mighty invasion the Yi TI's domains.

 

His hordes crushed and razed many cities. But the story said that he fell smitten to an imperial princess, whose wit and mettle were almost identical to the man's mother.

 

Thus he betrayed his people and had them poisoned. The people of Yi Ti, impressed by the man's deeds (and fearful of the fact that he might repeat the invasion) decided to crown him the first of the Jade emperors. But it didn't stop the dothraki's to invade a second time, at the behest of the widow of one of the betrayed khals.

 

After a decade, the traitor was run over by twenty thousand horses, the same number of riders he had poisoned. The stampede was so savage that the corpse's bones were ground into dust.

 

"A woman can make a man forget everything," said Jhiqui. "And be their folly."

 

"It is known," agreed Irri.

 

Dorea just made a smile, shocking her head.

 

Danny, meanwhile, wasn't really listening, her head wandering on about the mother's deed. She too wanted to be able to defend her beloved ones. With a small nod and a tiny pursing of her lips, brows coming down in a frown, Daenerys decided to ask her husband if he'd be willing to teach her how to fight.


	3. Chapter 3

Aaaanyways, chapter 5 is on the way, sweetlings. I'll also take in stride something that I've unconsciously done... remember Jeyne Westerling's substitute? Her surname is Maegyr too, apparently.

**Dantius I**

Maegyr, an ancient surname that traced its days back to old Valyria. Dantius and his kin were descendants to the dragon lords, no less. Granted, the Maegyr house were THE weakest of the dragonlord bloodlines-not having a single dragon by the time of the Doom- but they still carried that memory and name proudly. It had been their kin that had brought Volantis to their greatest apex of power, and would have kept it hadn't been for treacherous and inferior schemes from other self-styled "tigers".

Dantius mentally scoffed, as if there was pride in being an oversized cat when one was to be compared by dragons. Tychos Maegyr, then triarch and gobernor-general of Lys and Myr, had been murdered by thirty of the tigers, jealous of his power.

Then things, to the surprise of no one who wasn't affiliated to the "tigers", had gone south, both for the family and the city.

Dantius belonged to a cadet branch of the family, destitute of the many states that the main one, lead by the old and good Malaquo, owned. Thus he, despite his peerles heritage, was forced to deal with mutts and barbarians. He growled at the thought.

His host offered him a solace from those dark thoughts. Viserys was a fine lad belonging to yet another Dragonlord Bloodline, if a bit tainted (but let's be honest, that was sin many of the old blood had been guilty of at least once or twice). Granted, he was temperamental and arrogant from time to time, but the fellow had a bit of charming personality. And a thing that would give them a lot of coin.

They sat at a qohorik set of chairs and table, their legs being dragon carvings. The cutlery was fine silver and the plates had intrincate designs, though nowhere as good-looking as the delicious food: first a lorathi tuna tartare with small loafs of freshly baked bread; the main course had been mutton bathed in almond wine; the desserts had been a delightful lemoncake with a fine coat of sugar glaze. All had been accompanied with arbor red.

After eating they (Dantius, his cousing Nyesos and Viserys) perched on their seats and chit-chatted for a while until Dantius, cleaning a few crumbs of bread off his red and gold tunic, started the topic that had gathered them.

"My kinsman Malaquo has shown great interest in this printing press of yours, saying it would come in handy to make the red tape easier and have a more solid stranglehold on the tributary territories, as they'd have to report more things."

Viserys' thin smile tightened a bit and he squeezed his grasp on the goblet . One didn't need to see people's mind to figure out that the young man was thinking something along the lines of _"the plague is spreading"_. Dantius smiled and led Nyesos do a bit more of the talking, so he could gauge the boy's change in the last months he had been in Old Volantis.

"I'm honored that the great triarch has taken notice of this humble contraption," not bad, he had learnt the ways of diplomacy a bit, but Dantius noted it wasn't as natural as it should be. "Unfortunately there's a high demand of the printing presses: the Galazza twins of Myr are very interested too, as well Asteri D'Arnau. And the building procedures still take a bit as you have to make abundant sets of letters."

Simply put, he was saying: what have you guys to offer? I've got more clients, so give me your bid now.

 _Not bad, boy. But you still need a lot of improvement, it was a tad too obvious._ Thought the patriarch of the family.

"Maegyr is Old Blood," said Nesyrios apollogetically. "And our connexions and assets are many. Surely we can make an arrangement."

"Qohorik smiths,and a favour," said Viserys without a single though and in casual tone as he rose and went on to fill his goblet with a bit of wine and watered it down, he and Dantius were perfectly sober as of now, as opposed to the slightly inebriated Nyesos. " Right now those are the two things I need the most and your family could give me."

Dantius cocked his head in wonder, was he planning to arm his personal army? It was no secret that Pentoshi magisters and rich merchants kept small retinues of well trained forces-so to defend their caravans and manses. It was also no secret that Viserys, who wouldn't take long to be considered a magister, had the biggest of those retinues as of now, with almost a thousand swords (well, that number wasn't publicly known) mixed in the city garrison and as partisans.

Still nowhere enough to even establish a beach-head on Westeros.

For, despite all the things he was doing he was but a small lizard. A lizard with sharp teeth, if he got the qohorik smiths, but still small and puny. Dantius playfully twisted his dark brown moustache as he thought on what exactly he was hidding.

Viserys ought to have seen Dantius musing, and nodded to himself.

"A man in my employ has found an interesting thing, which could potentially turn to be _very_ useful. We still lack the solid means to make it tangible but I think that the Qohorik Smiths could greatly help us, for they are the best in their office."

"Are you sure you don't want a hundred chests brimming with gold or a whole army? I think it would be easier for us."

At the mention of the army Viserys' expresion suddenly switched. He made a savage grin as his eyes widened a bit at the thought of an army, a full fledged army, on his command to recover the kingdoms. Dantius was sure he was imagining how his men stormed the Iron throne and butchered the so-called "Usurper". His eyes seemed to be on the verge of throwing sparks from excitement and his hands gripped tightly the arms of his chair and the lower end of his dark-green jacket.

But all of a sudden, and with a swift and short shook of his head, his expresion changed to a more serious one that gave pass to a polite and calm smile, but with eyes cold and caculating. The eyes of a man who was chastising himself for almost forgetting about his objective, as the further tightened the grip on the chair's arms indicated.

"Unfortunately I must decline the offer: they are delicious assets but none of them would ease the task fo hiring those smiths, and I've pooled many resources on that project to let it fail."

Dantius' salt and pepper brows frowned and his left hand's index rubbed lightly the copper-rug that was his right cheek's skis. Months ago Viserys would have made _anything_ for that offer. He wanted those smiths that badly? _But of course, the same way you want those printing presses that badly,_ dully noted his common sense. Though his common sense hadn't mentioned that Viserys didn't face decapitation or worse if he didn't get his part of the deal.

It was crystal clear why he needed Dantius and the Maegyr, Qohorik smiths were a thing one just couldn't get easily. They were, after all, a secret of the city and they'd require a bit of political influencing as well as a great deal of money.

The latter was needed but alone wasn't sufficient and Viserys had none of the early, so he needed a third party.

Like a Volantene Triarch.

"We want all the printing presses you have available now,"said Dantius, his voice cutting with authority".At least fifty of them if there are too few. As for the favor... we will do it if you tell us what you want the smiths to do."

Viserys nodded in agreement.

"I myself don't understand it very well. Leorio, the employee in question, says they may be the only ones of achieving it, and I believe the man considering how well he's acquited himself."

Of course he spoke about the so called "mechanical clock" and the new model of pump. The things were also very useful (and certainly easier to carry and place than, say, a sun-clock), though they weren't as low-priced as the textiles Viserys sold (as well as being harder to make).

A shame though, you just needed to twirl a key on a spring to make sure it would mark the time, and would do so with pinpoint accuracy as well as warn you when the hour came to an end, and which one was it.

Same went for the pump, which was able to absorb water at twice the rate and with half the effort than the conventional ones. The man was a golden mine and Viserys had struck an almost genius (the almost alleged to the fact that Viserys hadn't had no idea at the moment) manneuver.

"As far as I know, the, as he calls it, "technical proficiency" to make the process work. He also thinks we will speed up the production of clocks-which goes at a snail's pace- with their help and abilities."

Dantius nodded, not totally satisfied but knew the boy would tell them once he had anything tangible-mainly to show it off and try to sell it to the Volantenes.

"What about the favour?"

Viserys coiled his torso onward. His face was all business now: gone were the smile and any remnant of wamth in his eyes.

"I'm supposed," he made air quotes at that word. "To be the king of Westeros. Supposed being the operative word. Turns out that "somehow"," the sarcasm was strong in that last word, noted Dantius. "I have no power whatsoever in that place, as well as I'm oblivious to what happens there. I need eyes in the city of Kingslanding, and I know your branch of the Maegyr has already people in Westeros and didn't shy away from spywork across its history."

"Pfah," Dantius scoffed at the mention. "My daughter won't work for me, not even in a thousand years. With all that non-sense of not stomaching slavery and all," the patriarch of the lesser Maegyr branch made a devilish smile." But it's been a long time since I wasn't thrown into spy conspiracies, and I want to keep an eye on that young rascal, so you can count on me... BUT I want to know why you want the smiths, I want to see it with my own eyes and be the first one at it alongside you."

Viserys smiled and stretched his arm to make a handshake.

"We have a deal... by the way, I want you to figure out who's Illyrio's Westerosi friend."

"You don't trust him?"

"Oh, I trust him... but when push comes to shove and the vital points are to be dealt with, I trust him as much as I trust Asteri."

"So you don't trust him at all."

The three of them chuckled to their hearts content.

**(Three days later, port of Pentos)**

Dantius' cog, the _Soaring Dragon_ , was departing Pentos. Hogarro, one of his younger cousins, was departing to Old Volantis with word about the agreement, which they had vowed to uphold upon the honor of their Old Blood.

The wind caressed him and made his locks of salt and pepper hair swing around a bit.

"To King's Landing," he said in silence.

Neither he nor Viserys knew their actions would ignite a massive powderkeg.

**Before anyone says a thing: spring driven clocks were a thing back in the early XV! Nevertheless it's mindboggling that westeros has no regular mechanical clocks that I can remember when by the XIIth century there were already a few cases (and when it comes to weapons they are at least on a XIVth century level of development) of them and were quite egregious by the XIVth century. Same goes for the pump (which westerosis already have, it's just a refinement of the current model)**

**As for Dantius role, and keeping with rennaisance Spain's comparisons, he is going to fulfill the role of the Abrabanel Dinasty, a family of jews-one of the most relevant sephardic- who became famous for its merchants, bankers, filosofers and spymasters.**


	4. Chapter 4

Aaaanyways, chapter 5 is on the way, sweetlings. I'll also take in stride something that I've unconsciously done... remember Jeyne Westerling's substitute? Her surname is Maegyr too, apparently.

**Dantius I**

Maegyr, an ancient surname that traced its days back to old Valyria. Dantius and his kin were descendants to the dragon lords, no less. Granted, the Maegyr house were THE weakest of the dragonlord bloodlines-not having a single dragon by the time of the Doom- but they still carried that memory and name proudly. It had been their kin that had brought Volantis to their greatest apex of power, and would have kept it hadn't been for treacherous and inferior schemes from other self-styled "tigers".

Dantius mentally scoffed, as if there was pride in being an oversized cat when one was to be compared by dragons. Tychos Maegyr, then triarch and gobernor-general of Lys and Myr, had been murdered by thirty of the tigers, jealous of his power.

Then things, to the surprise of no one who wasn't affiliated to the "tigers", had gone south, both for the family and the city.

Dantius belonged to a cadet branch of the family, destitute of the many states that the main one, lead by the old and good Malaquo, owned. Thus he, despite his peerles heritage, was forced to deal with mutts and barbarians. He growled at the thought.

His host offered him a solace from those dark thoughts. Viserys was a fine lad belonging to yet another Dragonlord Bloodline, if a bit tainted (but let's be honest, that was sin many of the old blood had been guilty of at least once or twice). Granted, he was temperamental and arrogant from time to time, but the fellow had a bit of charming personality. And a thing that would give them a lot of coin.

They sat at a qohorik set of chairs and table, their legs being dragon carvings. The cutlery was fine silver and the plates had intrincate designs, though nowhere as good-looking as the delicious food: first a lorathi tuna tartare with small loafs of freshly baked bread; the main course had been mutton bathed in almond wine; the desserts had been a delightful lemoncake with a fine coat of sugar glaze. All had been accompanied with arbor red.

After eating they (Dantius, his cousing Nyesos and Viserys) perched on their seats and chit-chatted for a while until Dantius, cleaning a few crumbs of bread off his red and gold tunic, started the topic that had gathered them.

"My kinsman Malaquo has shown great interest in this printing press of yours, saying it would come in handy to make the red tape easier and have a more solid stranglehold on the tributary territories, as they'd have to report more things."

Viserys' thin smile tightened a bit and he squeezed his grasp on the goblet . One didn't need to see people's mind to figure out that the young man was thinking something along the lines of _"the plague is spreading"_. Dantius smiled and led Nyesos do a bit more of the talking, so he could gauge the boy's change in the last months he had been in Old Volantis.

"I'm honored that the great triarch has taken notice of this humble contraption," not bad, he had learnt the ways of diplomacy a bit, but Dantius noted it wasn't as natural as it should be. "Unfortunately there's a high demand of the printing presses: the Galazza twins of Myr are very interested too, as well Asteri D'Arnau. And the building procedures still take a bit as you have to make abundant sets of letters."

Simply put, he was saying: what have you guys to offer? I've got more clients, so give me your bid now.

 _Not bad, boy. But you still need a lot of improvement, it was a tad too obvious._ Thought the patriarch of the family.

"Maegyr is Old Blood," said Nesyrios apollogetically. "And our connexions and assets are many. Surely we can make an arrangement."

"Qohorik smiths,and a favour," said Viserys without a single though and in casual tone as he rose and went on to fill his goblet with a bit of wine and watered it down, he and Dantius were perfectly sober as of now, as opposed to the slightly inebriated Nyesos. " Right now those are the two things I need the most and your family could give me."

Dantius cocked his head in wonder, was he planning to arm his personal army? It was no secret that Pentoshi magisters and rich merchants kept small retinues of well trained forces-so to defend their caravans and manses. It was also no secret that Viserys, who wouldn't take long to be considered a magister, had the biggest of those retinues as of now, with almost a thousand swords (well, that number wasn't publicly known) mixed in the city garrison and as partisans.

Still nowhere enough to even establish a beach-head on Westeros.

For, despite all the things he was doing he was but a small lizard. A lizard with sharp teeth, if he got the qohorik smiths, but still small and puny. Dantius playfully twisted his dark brown moustache as he thought on what exactly he was hidding.

Viserys ought to have seen Dantius musing, and nodded to himself.

"A man in my employ has found an interesting thing, which could potentially turn to be _very_ useful. We still lack the solid means to make it tangible but I think that the Qohorik Smiths could greatly help us, for they are the best in their office."

"Are you sure you don't want a hundred chests brimming with gold or a whole army? I think it would be easier for us."

At the mention of the army Viserys' expresion suddenly switched. He made a savage grin as his eyes widened a bit at the thought of an army, a full fledged army, on his command to recover the kingdoms. Dantius was sure he was imagining how his men stormed the Iron throne and butchered the so-called "Usurper". His eyes seemed to be on the verge of throwing sparks from excitement and his hands gripped tightly the arms of his chair and the lower end of his dark-green jacket.

But all of a sudden, and with a swift and short shook of his head, his expresion changed to a more serious one that gave pass to a polite and calm smile, but with eyes cold and caculating. The eyes of a man who was chastising himself for almost forgetting about his objective, as the further tightened the grip on the chair's arms indicated.

"Unfortunately I must decline the offer: they are delicious assets but none of them would ease the task fo hiring those smiths, and I've pooled many resources on that project to let it fail."

Dantius' salt and pepper brows frowned and his left hand's index rubbed lightly the copper-rug that was his right cheek's skis. Months ago Viserys would have made _anything_ for that offer. He wanted those smiths that badly? _But of course, the same way you want those printing presses that badly,_ dully noted his common sense. Though his common sense hadn't mentioned that Viserys didn't face decapitation or worse if he didn't get his part of the deal.

It was crystal clear why he needed Dantius and the Maegyr, Qohorik smiths were a thing one just couldn't get easily. They were, after all, a secret of the city and they'd require a bit of political influencing as well as a great deal of money.

The latter was needed but alone wasn't sufficient and Viserys had none of the early, so he needed a third party.

Like a Volantene Triarch.

"We want all the printing presses you have available now,"said Dantius, his voice cutting with authority".At least fifty of them if there are too few. As for the favor... we will do it if you tell us what you want the smiths to do."

Viserys nodded in agreement.

"I myself don't understand it very well. Leorio, the employee in question, says they may be the only ones of achieving it, and I believe the man considering how well he's acquited himself."

Of course he spoke about the so called "mechanical clock" and the new model of pump. The things were also very useful (and certainly easier to carry and place than, say, a sun-clock), though they weren't as low-priced as the textiles Viserys sold (as well as being harder to make).

A shame though, you just needed to twirl a key on a spring to make sure it would mark the time, and would do so with pinpoint accuracy as well as warn you when the hour came to an end, and which one was it.

Same went for the pump, which was able to absorb water at twice the rate and with half the effort than the conventional ones. The man was a golden mine and Viserys had struck an almost genius (the almost alleged to the fact that Viserys hadn't had no idea at the moment) manneuver.

"As far as I know, the, as he calls it, "technical proficiency" to make the process work. He also thinks we will speed up the production of clocks-which goes at a snail's pace- with their help and abilities."

Dantius nodded, not totally satisfied but knew the boy would tell them once he had anything tangible-mainly to show it off and try to sell it to the Volantenes.

"What about the favour?"

Viserys coiled his torso onward. His face was all business now: gone were the smile and any remnant of wamth in his eyes.

"I'm supposed," he made air quotes at that word. "To be the king of Westeros. Supposed being the operative word. Turns out that "somehow"," the sarcasm was strong in that last word, noted Dantius. "I have no power whatsoever in that place, as well as I'm oblivious to what happens there. I need eyes in the city of Kingslanding, and I know your branch of the Maegyr has already people in Westeros and didn't shy away from spywork across its history."

"Pfah," Dantius scoffed at the mention. "My daughter won't work for me, not even in a thousand years. With all that non-sense of not stomaching slavery and all," the patriarch of the lesser Maegyr branch made a devilish smile." But it's been a long time since I wasn't thrown into spy conspiracies, and I want to keep an eye on that young rascal, so you can count on me... BUT I want to know why you want the smiths, I want to see it with my own eyes and be the first one at it alongside you."

Viserys smiled and stretched his arm to make a handshake.

"We have a deal... by the way, I want you to figure out who's Illyrio's Westerosi friend."

"You don't trust him?"

"Oh, I trust him... but when push comes to shove and the vital points are to be dealt with, I trust him as much as I trust Asteri."

"So you don't trust him at all."

The three of them chuckled to their hearts content.

**(Three days later, port of Pentos)**

Dantius' cog, the _Soaring Dragon_ , was departing Pentos. Hogarro, one of his younger cousins, was departing to Old Volantis with word about the agreement, which they had vowed to uphold upon the honor of their Old Blood.

The wind caressed him and made his locks of salt and pepper hair swing around a bit.

"To King's Landing," he said in silence.

Neither he nor Viserys knew their actions would ignite a massive powderkeg.

**Before anyone says a thing: spring driven clocks were a thing back in the early XV! Nevertheless it's mindboggling that westeros has no regular mechanical clocks that I can remember when by the XIIth century there were already a few cases (and when it comes to weapons they are at least on a XIVth century level of development) of them and were quite egregious by the XIVth century. Same goes for the pump (which westerosis already have, it's just a refinement of the current model)**

**As for Dantius role, and keeping with rennaisance Spain's comparisons, he is going to fulfill the role of the Abrabanel Dinasty, a family of jews-one of the most relevant sephardic- who became famous for its merchants, bankers, filosofers and spymasters.**


	5. Chapter 5

The game of thrones begins soon!

By the way, I'm planning on introducing some westerosi knights (read: OCs) and I have thought ought 2 of them, and I'd like to hear the opinions and ideas for making three more knights that would be introduced around chapters 6-8.

**Daenerys II (two weeks prior to the death of Jon Arryn)**

Her steed ran fast as she readied the arrow and pulled the string of her bow. Daenerys aimed as best as she could (and her steed allowed to) and released her shot. The arrow flew across the air, a whipping sound cracked upon its release. The projectile, though, missed its target, a small bullseye at fifty paces. Close, for it had just graced the wood's sides.

She clicked her tongue in frustration prior to a growl and a furrowing of the brows. Shooting still had been a non-issue for her and in a month she had learned the basics to move on to the matter of shooting on horse. She had yet to hit the bullseye.

Seeing her frustration, her husband chuckled. The Khalassar now was at the outskirts of Qohor, having travelled there to attend to the marriage of a Khal friend of Drogo, and were preparing and gathering a few essentials for their journey to Vaes Dothrak. Those two days would be ideal for her to practice without issue.

"You're yet again letting your temper get the best of you, my Moon," said the Khal as Daenerys took position again, made her silver enter into a slow trot as his husband did and she prepared another arrow. "You need to calm your pulse..."

As the afternoon passed she kept trying her husband encouraging her and giving tips and correcting her stance. Their laughter rang heartily when Daenerys hit the bullseye twice, almost at the end of the afternoon.

Once they finished they joined the rest of the Khalassar. Drogo's bloodriders awaited for him and told him one of Qohors most distinguished lords wanted to make them a gift.

The man wore a white and light green set of clothes with a weird hat made of the same colours and possibly cloth. His skin was rather dark, and his curly hair and beard were awburn while the latter tried its best to hide the double chin.

"This arakh was made by the great smith Vargo using a new forging technique. Some say it's almost as good as Valyrian Steel-though the smith in question hasn't pronounced his opinion in the matter."

Curiously enough, the Arakh in question did look the part of Valyrian steel, with its ripple on the metal. The handle was a white and silvery combination.

"Tell this smith he did a good job," commended Khal Drogo.

"A pity I won't be able to, he dissappeared a few days ago, we were wondering if you would spread the word of the event to the other khalassars. We'd be greatly thankful if you could help us in this."

In other words: _would you accept this payment for acting as messengers and bounty-placers._

As it was, Drogo had no trouble accepting (after all he wouldn't do it, regardless of wether or not he said yes or not he wasn't obliged to in truth) but he latter confessed to her wife that he found it curious that such a man would disappear right after making a breakthrough. Strange and convenient.

**Dantius II (two weeks prior to the death of Jon Arryn)**

King's Landing. Westeros' capital. And, judging by the smell he could feel five miles away of the port, a giant pile of shit given shape of a city. Maybe he should have sent Nyesos. Then again Nyesos was a turd and he could well get the family in trouble so best be cautious. The old Volantene made cynical smile at that comment.

When he and his men landed the goverment official stopped by to interrogate them and inspect the cargo. Dantius having little time and interest to waste with the uncouth savage, decided to give him a small pouch of silver and he grinned like a fool as he made it back to his post. Apparently he had been very quick on his inspection. Good.

Wasting little time he called his servant Vogarro. It had been a nuissance that he couldn't bring his slaves (as the seven kingdoms outlawed it) so he had to select what few freedmen were in his service and hire a few Pentoshi and Lyseny agents. They could be a liability so he had his operative personnel restricted to those of Volantene blood (as it should be). That left him little margin and area of control but he'd work out the ins and outs.

He and his retinue walked around, carrying their cargo to their new abode: a luxurious house (though it was nowhere close to the grandeur of the Volantene palaces, and not even on the level of the pathetic westerosi ones) with two floors. It had nice tapestries and embroideries but to Dantius it mattered little, he was here for business after all.

Walking towards the studio he requested his agents they go and inspect the city and start gathering knowledge. Myrrus was to depart the city and come back a week latter, dressed fittingly to serve in the castle. His other servants should start inspecting the docks in three days, petition for the city watch (those of westerosi ascendency or that had a passable fake identity) and maybe send one to work as a servant at the Great temple of the Seven.

In a matter of ten days things were going swimmingly: he had two (out of five) inside the golden cloaks, three working at the docks and a few scores scattered across the great houses of the city. Myrris had managed to enter the castle. Unfortunately he hadn't gained access to their great "sept" nor to the houses of the members of their so-called small council, much to his chargrin.

As if the gods were hearing his trouble they gifted him with a curious apparition: Lord Varys "the spider" (whether or not this meant the guy ate flies or had a penchant for weaving was a matter for another day) had entered his house. Dantius, that day wearing a black and purple tunic, noticed him n his solar once he had taken seat in his table and the man had deigned to turn from the great couch he had facing one fo the windows.

Dantius jerked his arms and gasped in surprise but quickly recomposed himself, gifting the sneaky man a corteous smile.

"Lord Dantius, it's a pleasure to make myself an acquaintance of yourse," the eunuch spoke with a candid tone, he clearly had a second motive, didn't he? "I have some serious things to confess to the king in Pentos and need your help."

**Tobho I (same day as the death of Jon Arryn)**

For three weeks, Tobho had been unaware of his destination. The first thing he knew of this whole mess was that a strange group barged into his house and put him to sleep. Next thing consisted in him being awake in a ship's cabin, sailing the shivering sea. And after that he ended up in Pentos. He was driven to the outskirts of the town into a big building with an ample open field.

There he had met a young noble. He identified himself as the "rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms" (though he didn't know what was that, he wasn't a very knowleadeable man in terms of world knowledge) and requested (rather forcefully) his assistance in a project.

And here he was, busting his brains out dealing with the issues at hand when making this "gunpowder". For weeks him and a nice chap named Leorio had developed what he had dubbed "muskets" and "pistols". They were small and manportable albeit the early was cumbersome when it came to reloading. Now they were trying to replicate the design and make it work for big calibers to help in sieges: surely a weapon capable of tearing steel could be able to smash stones with the right size, he told the young Targaryen and he had readily given them as much ore and resources as they asked.

That wasn't to mean that the man had only asked him to only work on the gunpowder weapons: he had commissioned five hundred suits of armor but with a series of specifications. It would be plate armor but not a full plate (he, ordered three hundred of those, though) as it was customary on westerosi. He said that he had a specific plan for them.

What that plan was was anyone's guess, he cared little for such wordly matters. His art on the steel was all that mattered to him.

**Edmund I (A week after the death of Jon Arryn)**

Ser Edmund walked through the maze of streets that formed Pentos. His old companions: Ser Alfons Quilano and his loyal (and old) squire Sandor Bansar, both belonging to a small town neither of them could remember the name of due to having spent all their life as hedge knights. Northern dorn or the Reach's marches most likely.

The knight's blazon was a sad and battered moon, a tear falling down from it's painted eye. He wore full plate armor but it clacked quite a bit, as the man was fairly bony and old. His skin wasn't wrinkly, in fact it was rather rosy, but his _magnificent_ moustache and goatee were pure white and his eyes reflected a great tiredom and wizening. Sandor on the other hand was a rather fat man of blunt features, choosing to go on a cheap mail.

Both of them contrasted notably with him, who was a man in fairly good shape, wearing a black set of trousers and doubled with white trimming. He had a full beard, kept quite short and locked on the edges of his jaw and mouth (connecting, thus, with his moustache). His jet-black hair was made of a tight set of locks of hair and his brows were rather dense. His nose was rather big and wide (while the others' two noses seemed eagles' beaks). He had pale-green eyes in contrast of his fellows' blue eyes.

Regardless, he found the two were twats with too big of an ego, blinded to the opportunities they had at hand. After all, the infamous spider and a volantene trade lord had given them a task of great importance and with excellent prospects of promotion. Instead they were content with "doing their duty to the realm". They were oblivious to the man's identity but he had realized it fairly quickly. Funny thing that the spider was loyal to the dragons still.

"This is the house?" Asked Alfons to Sandor, who had the map an indications.

The building in question was a sumptuous (yet not very big) palace build in marble and white stone that had fine carvings on its surface. It had two Valryian spinxes made out of black stones flanking the door at the end of a small garden with two diminute (almost person sized) fountains flanked each by a pair of trees they couldn't identify.

"It seems so, Ser," said the squire. "Let's enter then."

It turned out that, yes, this was his house. What they didn't expect is that they wouldn't be able to meet him yet as he was on a business reunion with one of his partners. They awaited for a good half hour, drinking a strange beverage that had a fruity aftertaste.

A man, old and wrinkled and clad in tasteful (but not extravagant) clothes, left with a triumphant smile. At that same time they were told they could enter their solar.

Viserys Targaryen was anything but what he had imagined. He would either look like a rambling lunatic with fingernails the length of man's cock, messy hair and a mouth spouting spume and ranting incoherently while burning someone... or he'd be a man clad from head to toes in full plate armor spouting spme and ranting incoherently while burning someones (imagery provided by the Mad King).

Instead he sat on a desk that wasn't really big and was covered in stacks of paper. He was pinching the bridge of his nose while cringed and his eyes were closed and he muttered something along the lines of "bloody Lorathi". He strechted his arms and upper body as if he was a cat. With a shook of his head he opened the eyes and stared them as his face formed a polite (and cold) expression.

Alfons was quick to bend the knee, and Sandor inmediately joined him.

"Your grace, my name is Alfons Quilano. And my family served the Mad King-" Ser Alfons halted when the expression of Viserys grew somber for a second, but the guy pinched his hand and regained his composure and polite smile."During the war of the Usurper. We've been told you're building up to recover the kingdoms and I want to be sworn into your duty."

Viserys kept his smile and nodded lightly, but by the way he rose his eyebrows and slightly rolled his eyes, Edmund quickly deduced that the last thing he needed was _a_ knight. A thousand might have done the trick but right now Alfons had presented himself as a single blade to be thrown in futility at the walls of pikes and arrows the usurper had.

The slimy knight went on and made a wicked smile as he, too, kneeled.

"Your grace, Jon Arryn is dead," Viserys eyes went wide open in surprise. "Nobody knows it yet, for the King has kept it a secret as he wants to mourn alone and undisturbed. Yet lord Dantius has handled us this information as well as this details, "He produced a scroll of parchment out of his leather pouch. "Regarding various events that may be of interest to the case. He also informs you of the "friend" this man Illyrio has on the Seven Kingdoms and sends me and my friend to act as military instructors for your cavalry, though I must say I could be useful in other fronts."

Viserys face slowly changed as he spoke, turning into a vicious grin and filled his lilac eyes with a desire of conquest. It was so easy to read he wanted to go out now and crush the seven kingdoms with his swords! Fortunately for his hide (and the cause), his face, after a small shook of his head, quickly came back to the normal polite and cold appearance.

"I'm in need of tacticians, not just men to throw into the meatgrinder or ensure I've got good meat to throw at it," said Viserys as he rose and walked slowly to the window of his house and stared towards the port. "I may lack the numbers but blades aren't my primary concern, not anymore: war is changing, my friend, and we are going to ride atop of that wave of change."

Okay, maybe he wasn't as sane as he apparently seemed. _C'mon, Edmund, what were you expecting? He's the mad king's son, it's already a miracle he isn't singing "do you see the little goblin?" at random as he places a pair of fake boobs over his chest. Granted it's at least better than the baby-eating Septon of the Weeping town._ Thought the knight.

"Tomorrow you'll see what I'm talking about," the king's smile seemed that of genuine anticipation, and the tone and his eyes matched it."But you must be tired, so why don't you go and take a rest, I'll go visit you once you've finally settled in your accomodations and the servants have guided you." With a ring of a bell a maid entered the room-Edmund noticed now that there weren't servants in the solar- who bowed to ask them to accompany her. " There's a couple of things that I need to sort out, so, if you excuse , there's red tape I shouldn't do but I'm forced to."

They started walking out but Viserys, his index risen, asked them to stop for a second.

"One more thing, Ser Edmund, I've never heard your whole name, and I certainly need to know which house I'm bestowing great honors."

"Oh, certainly," Edmund made a wide smile when he spoke to Viserys. "I'm Ser Edmund Blackadder, at your service your grace."

**Drogo I (a month after the death of Jon Arryn)**

Her Moon was unsettled, and that brought worry to him. Khal Drogo, amongst other things, had soft spot for her beloved wife. And why he shouldn't? He had been smitten by her when he saw her and had become enraptured by every feature of her: her fair skin, a gentle mantle of snow that embraced gently the fine curves of her body; her hair, silvery turned silk in texture; her eyes, amethyst that ensared him with the fire burning behind.

The blood of a dragon was what finally conquered Drogo. She slowly became stronger and stood to the Khal, giving him a passion he had been unable to ever phatom. Her kisses and caresses made him shiver and her voice, but specially the words it strung, melted his brain. Her fiery will were that of a dothraki and Drogo took great pride in the many efforts her wife had done.

Seeing her make those faces angered Drogo, an anger he could very well pinpoint: her brother. The _snake_ (for he wasn't worth being called dragon) had sent a message to her Moon and her features had dimmed a bit, her light lessening. Still he didn't dare yet to ask, as it was clear his Moon was thinking and sorting her emotions. Him barging without care wouldn't help at all. Her pregnancy was already starting to show up, and she'd give birth in roughly six moons, as the Dosh Kaleen predicted. She shouldn't be worrying too much or else the baby (or worse, her) might face problems.

He brought his hands over her shoulders, squeezing them lightly and giving her a kiss. She made a weak smile in exchange, and briefly went back to her status of near-depression.

It was then that Jorah the Andal, loyal friend of his Moon, came into the Tent. Wearing his traditional garb with the dirty white shirt and the worn down trousers, he had about the same expresion as Daenerys.

"Jon Arryn is dead," Drogo winced a bit at the strange name, Jorah, noticing the lack of understanding, rose his eyebrows in realization and proceeded to explain. "The hand of the king or the Bloodrider of bloodriders: the man most trusted by the Khal of Westeros and second only to him, capable to speak in his name and enact his will."

That meant something big was about to happen then. If someone in such a high esteem (and responsability) was dead then the Khal surely would need a replacement.

"Lord Eddard Stark is apparently mentioned as a candidate and your brother thinks it is the most likely choice. That means a man who knows nothing of the viper pit his going to get thrown is going to be given reigns of the goverment," Continued to explain Jorah. "Viserys doubts, specially according to his "spyes", that the man's death was due to natural causes. He thinks Westeros is heading to a period of internal turmoil."

"And he wants his "promised" army..."

Drogo didn't really want to but then he saw the face his Moon made. She was worried the snake might harm her for disobeying his demands, a kernel of the old submission and weakness she had at the beginning. Drogo's jaw and fists clenched, unwilling to see her wife prisoner of an unworthy man half a world away. He'd come to Pentos to show him his place and give rest to her beloved wife. Daenerys deserved that solace.

Right now they were close to the lamb men, which meant they could use the slaves to get enought boats in Volantis. Drogo shivered in distaste at the thought of crossing the poisoned water but it was known it was the fastest way and the sooner his wife was free from his filthy clutches the better.

" Jorah," Said Drogo in an eerily calm tone as he kept the fire alive. "Tell him we are coming, I'll make sure he gets the crown he deserves."

I swear honest to god neither of them are Lord Edmund Blackadder and Don Quijote de la Mancha. I SW- Oh who am I kidding, I just did it for kicks and giggles. House Blackadder (and its sigil is the same animal) is a knightly house that belongs to the Stormlands and their family motto is: "Better them rather than us"

One thing that I find funny is that Valyrian steel was folded thousands of times. I say I find it funny because it's an unnecessary effort: you will get the same effect once you make the folding 100 times than 1000. It's like kneading bread. You could spend a whole day kneading and the end result would be the same as if you spent, say, one hour. Nevertheless, the guy question has discovered Damascus steel, a type of steel that is almost on par with the XXI modern techniques (several outperform it) but was a miracle to make back in its day.

Well, and with this... we finish the prologue. Act I (the events of books 1-2) will soon begin and I plan to make it last roughly twice this.


End file.
